


No, I Didn't See This Coming.

by marvel_ously_fiction



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Brat!Pietro, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Non-Consensual Spanking, Parental Clint Barton, Pietro Maximoff Lives, Pietro is a brat, Punishment, Spanking, father!Clint, hawksilver - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvel_ously_fiction/pseuds/marvel_ously_fiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The older man had never heard such a distraught sound come out of the kid before. Clint didn’t want to do this. Pietro was just a kid who had messed up. But then, Clint reminded himself, kids needed boundaries. Pietro had been aware that he wasn’t to act the way he did, yet he had done so anyway.</p><p>Contains Non-Consensual Spanking! Not a pairing or slash, just paternal, fed up Clint and his little brat Pietro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No, I Didn't See This Coming.

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea from a tumblr post by dollydork: http://dollydork.tumblr.com/post/118228146677/clint-spanking-pietro-because-hes-a-brat-reblog, and I used some angst sentence starters written by tumblr blogger lorddaveofthegnomes: http://quickism.tumblr.com/post/117981429106/angst-sentence-starters-yay
> 
> *For Pietro’s Sokovian, I have taken words from the Slovak language and have changed a few letters around… translations at the bottom!
> 
> Enjoy!

 

“Havni!”

Pietro gasped and retched, clutching his midriff as his body ejected the contents of his stomach. The acid-alcohol mixture was enough to make his eyes water, and he sank to his knees as his legs lost the ability to support him.

He had drank more than he could handle, that much was obvious, and the Avenger lurched forward onto all fours as he dry heaved.

The roaring sound of the passing traffic was lost to the loud ringing in his ears, and Pietro groaned as another wave of nausea passed over him.

The alley he had stumbled into was dark and damp, and Pietro wasn’t at all sure that he was even the slightest bit safe. The world was a dangerous place for a defenceless super hero.

Feeling confident that the worst of the alcohol poisoning had passed, Pietro shakily rose to his feet and ran a hand over his face, wiping away the residue of sweat and vomit.

The ground was littered with old editions of the local newspaper and Pietro scowled as he noticed the faces of his new team members spanning the covers of more than just a few copies.

The battle that had taken place in Sokovia had taken the world by storm, and the entirety of the credit had been placed with _Tony Fucking Stark_ and his annoying, patriotic sidekick.

Pietro kicked at a discarded beer can and smirked as it flew high and fast into the air and disappeared far out of sight, somewhere off into distance. He loved his powers. Unfortunately, not everyone did.

And there’s the reason why Pietro felt the need to get so drunk he could barely stand, however temporary that may be.

Clint. Fucking. Barton.

The absolute dick of an old man who had taken it upon himself to try and dictate everything Pietro and his sister did.

With his accelerated metabolism, Pietro’s ability to remain intoxicated for a lengthy period of time was lost and it was one of the only things the superhero missed immensely.

He would still try though. Anything to piss off Barton would suffice. It did Pietro a world of good to forget the old man’s rules and orders -like he had the right to give any in the first place- and if alcohol was the only means to do that, then so be it.

Barton, probably starved of good entertainment, had taken to ordering Pietro around, and it was really beginning to grate on his nerves _._

_“You need to eat real food, not just candy and pizza.”_

_“Stop using your speed to one-up our team mates.”_

_“Go to bed, you look like shit.”_

And when Pietro snorted and told Barton just where he could stick his suggestions:

_“I mean it, you little brat.”_

The whole thing was irritating beyond belief. Pietro was not a child, and he was sick of being ordered around like one, not like he did what Barton said anyway.

The most annoying thing to Pietro was that the other Avengers seemed to agree with Barton. They would turn a raised eyebrow on him and cross their arms, glaring at him until he just couldn’t maintain their gaze.

They had turned on him earlier today.

* * *

Pietro and Wanda had been lounging in the living room, competing in a round of Mario Kart, and ignoring Roger’s polite requests for them to shut the hell up.

Pietro was finally winning, though it was close, and he was so immersed in the game that he hadn’t heard the arrival of the douche bag archer.

Barton had stepped in front of the television and asked –no, ordered- Wanda to go and train with Romanoff. Apparently she hadn’t been practising hard enough or some shit like that.

Pietro had looked around at his sister at that, and saw her defiant expression melt away upon seeing Barton’s glare. Wanda had stood up and ducked towards the door without her usual arguments, slipping past Steve, and leaving Pietro lying alone, with Clint still standing in front of the television.

Pietro had been on his feet and in Barton’s face in less than a second.

“What the hell?!” he had snarled, his thick accent rolling of his tongue.

Clint had just met his gaze, a clear warning in his eyes.

“She needs to train more, you know that.” He had said, a firm undertone to the words.

“She trains enough, let her enjoy herself!” Pietro had been practically shouting at the older man, and he hadn’t cared that this was a minor issue to become angry over. The constant pushing and demands placed on both Pietro and his little sister by the archer had begun to wear on Pietro’s temper.

“Pietro, calm down. You’re being ridiculous.’ Clint had crossed his arms over his broad chest and was staring at Pietro in a way that had made the speedster fume.

“No, you’re being unreesable-un-unreassa-“

“Unreasonable.”

“SHUT UP!”

Pietro had taken a step closer to Clint and his hands had balled into tight fists. Steve had coughed loudly from the back of the room, probably to remind the young Avenger that he was about to cross a line, and that that wouldn’t be tolerated from either Clint or himself.

Rogers had warned him about crossing this metaphorical line a few times before and Pietro had never actually pushed the situation much further, mostly because Wanda had always been present and she had always given him a pleading look to calm down, so he had just given in to a sulk.

This time around however, thanks to Barton, Wanda was no longer there. And Pietro was just getting angrier.

Pietro had taken another step forward. He had been practically an inch away from Clint, and he had sneered in the taller man’s face, before quickly bringing his hands up and shoving the archer hard in the chest.

Unfortunately, Pietro’s powers didn’t include super strength, so the asshole archer hadn’t even stumbled.

“Do not dare raise a hand to me, little boy.” Clint had hissed, and the man had actually sounded angry.

Pietro had snarled in response, only to whirl around when he heard goody-two-shoes Rogers storm up behind him.

“Do you know how we dealt with brats like you in my day?” Steve had snapped.

Pietro had glared at him, imagining how wonderful it would be to punch the patriotic prick in the face for a second time. Suddenly, he had felt a strong calloused hand grip his bicep from behind, and Pietro had cursed himself at his moment of distraction.

Craning his head round, he had snarled at the archer.

“LET GO OF ME!” Pietro had roared, trying to swivel round and punch at Clint with his free hand.

This had proven to be ineffective, as Clint was significantly stronger than the speedster, and Steve had stepped forward to grab onto Pietro’s flailing arm.

“I asked you a question. I expect you to answer it.” Steve had ground out, cold anger evident in his tone.

Pietro had turned his head away from the unimpressed archer to glare at the super soldier.

“I DON’T GIVE A SH-” He had been cut off by a glare and an impatient shake from Steve.

“Watch your language. I will not say this again, so you’d better answer: Do you know how we dealt with brats like you in my day?”

Pietro had scowled and, seeing an opportunity, kicked out hard at the Captain’s shins, successfully startling the irate soldier. He had let go of Pietro with a harsh yelp and the speedster immediately turned around and punched the furious looking archer in the face.

Blood spurted from the man’s nose, and Clint had instinctually released his hold on the younger man as his hands jerked up to protect his face.

“You didn’t see that coming?” Pietro had taunted. He had seized his chance, and had made a mad dash for the door, knowing that no one would be able to stop him once he was running.

Once out of the living room, the Sokovian man had sprinted down the stairs and out of the Avenger’s tower. He had run a good thirty miles before he had decided to take refuge in a dingy bar on the corner of a busy intersection.

When prompted, Pietro had slammed down his ID onto the bar top, sick of being viewed as a child and had proceeded to drink himself into a state of mind numbing vulnerability until the bartender had felt the need to kick the kid out.

* * *

 

And that was where he was now, nursing a hangover and muttering Sokovian curses under his breath. He _hated_ the Avengers, he _hated_ living in America and he _hated_ Clint Barton.

Pietro was so caught up in his inner ramblings, and so focused on not falling over his own intoxicated feet, that he failed to notice that a man with a broken nose was storming up the sidewalk behind him, a thunderous expression on his face.

The large calloused hand closed easily over the nape of Pietro’s neck, and the Sokovian jumped, trying to twist around to fight of his attacker. His eyes narrowed when he caught sight of the archer.

“ _Barton!_ ” he hissed.

Clint said nothing, though his steely eyes flashed and he began to drag Pietro back the way he had just came, past the bar and over to a derelict motel that stood just a little up the road.

His hold on Pietro was so tight that the younger man could barely move his head.

“Let go of me!” Pietro demanded, trying to sound menacing, although it came out as more of a whine.

The grip on the back of his neck tightened. The alcohol had worn down Pietro’s defences. As a result, the young man was feeling slightly vulnerable and, although he’d never admit it, Pietro was feeling nervous.

He’d never seen Clint this pissed off before and he was pretty much defenceless, considering the fact that the only power he had was the ability to run fast and, with the alcohol still in his system, he was struggling just to put one foot in front of the other.

Yes. He was fucked.

After what seemed an age, they had arrived at the motel and Pietro could barely contain his unease as Clint dragged him wordlessly up a flight of stairs and along a balcony, producing a room key from his pocket as he did so.

After a second of the archer fumbling one handed with the lock, the other hand keeping the struggling youth by his side, the door clicked open and Pietro was flung into the dark room.

Clint stepped in after him, ignoring the younger man’s protests. The ominous sound of the lock and deadbolt being set in place chilled Pietro to the core. The lights flicked on.

“What the hell are y-“ Pietro began, but he trailed off somewhat awkwardly as the older man turned around and fixed him with a glare so fierce that Pietro was sure it would burn a hole in him.

“Sit down.” Clint ordered, pointing at the double bed to Pietro’s right.

Pietro glanced at it, and then glanced back at the older man, not wanting to do as he was told yet fearful of what would happen if he didn’t.

He was a grown man, for fuck sa-

“NOW!” Clint roared, and Pietro jumped as though scalded. He slowly walked towards the bed, feeling both apprehensive and increasingly angry. This wasn’t right. Why should he take orders from a boring old man who’s never had a day of fun in his life?

Pietro stood at the end of the bed, his increasing anger overshadowing his nerves. He turned around and drew himself up to his fullest height, before fixing the mutinous archer with a murderous expression.

“I AM SICK OF THIS!” Pietro roared. “YOU CAN NOT TELL ME WHAT TO DO, YOU POWER HUNGRY CUNT!” His accent was growing thicker in his rage, until the words threatened to become illegible.

Frustrated at the increasing challenge to express himself in a way Clint would understand, Pietro gave up on verbal communication and balled both his hands up into a fist.

He made to charge at the archer, but the movement of his feet was too quick for his sluggish brain to comprehend and, in a flash of silver, the speedster stumbled.

Clint seized his chance. He sprang forward and grabbed the Sokovian, twisting him around until the younger man’s back was pressed against his front.

Clint made his was towards the bed and dragged the flailing and cursing brat with him. As quickly as he could, and being mindful of flailing limbs, the furious archer sat down near the edge of the bed and threw the young man over his left thigh, manipulating Pietro’s body so that his chest lay over the bed to Clint’s left, and his legs lay trapped beneath Clint’s right thigh. The boy’s groin lay over the archer’s left thigh, with his rear pointing straight in the air.

Pietro let out a roar of frustration and threw back his hands in a violent attempt to push the archer away from him, but Clint simply responded by grabbing both of the boy’s wrists with one hand and locking them to the small of his back.

Pietro roared again and tried to buck, but with his lower body all but immobilised, and with his hands pinned down to his back, he found it impossible to move.

“Don’t think you can escape me.” Clint said bluntly. He was content to sit and hold the thrashing boy for as long as he felt he needed to.

Pietro responded with what could only be described as a scream of frustration, and his anger doubled as his helplessness became more apparent.

“Let-Let g-go of me.” Pietro panted, struggling and straining and he fought to get away from Clint’s lap. With the way he was positioned, his groin was perfectly balanced over the older man’s left knee and with his hands and legs pinned down, Pietro felt uncomfortably exposed.

Clint pulled the boy closer and held him snugly against his stomach.

“No.” he responded simply.

“W-wa-what?”

“No.” Clint repeated.

Pietro snapped his head back and Clint watched as the startlingly white hair fell forwards into Pietro’s eyes. The younger man was breathing heavily and his muscles remained tense, but the bulk of the fighting seemed to have died down. For now.

“You can’t do this!” Pietro spat.

Clint raised his eyebrows. “Do you know what I am going to do to you, Pietro?” The archer asked.

The following silence lasted for well over ten seconds before it was broken by an irritable huff.

“You can’t fucking do anything to me, Rogers won’t allow it!”

Clint had to smirk at that one.

“Actually, it was Steve who suggested it.” Pietro stilled at that.

“Suggested w-what?”

Clint was satisfied to hear a slight edge of fear enter the little brat’s voice. He was beyond done with the defiant and confrontational front this kid put on.

“I’m going to spank you, Pietro.” The room was silent save for the laboured breathing of the younger man.

“What?” Pietro spat.

It took Clint a minute to realise the problem. “I believe the Sokovian word for it is ‘vayploeskot.’”

The change was instantaneous. Pietro roared and tried to buck upwards, seemingly oblivious to the firm hold the archer had on him. A frantic change had entered his movements, and the Sokovian tried again and again to burst free, kicking his feet as hard as he were able to. Silver mist rose from the speedster’s feet as they blurred with the speed of his kicking, but with his hands still held firmly in place and with his legs still anchored down, Pietro could not get free.

Pietro paused, gasping for air. He turned his head slightly and, with a pathetic moan, his eyes found the older man’s face.

“N-no… anything b-but that… p-please…”

Clint stared back at his surprisingly vulnerable looking teammate. Pietro’s wide crystal eyes had glazed over with tears, and the effect was adorable; he looked like a lost little boy.

Hardening his heart, Clint simply thought back to Pietro’s usual bratty behaviour and his current throbbing nose, and he felt his former irritation return to him. The older man stared back at the watery blue eyes with a firm glare, and with a low choking sob Pietro slowly turned his head away and buried it in the bedcovers.

“Actions have consequences, Pietro.” Clint lectured firmly. “If you act like a bratty child then I will treat you like a bratty child. I-“

“I’m not a child!” Pietro’s voice, muffled by the bedsheets, cut through Clint’s words. The whining, high-pitched tone to his words set the archer’s teeth on edge.

“Your behaviour states otherwise!” Clint snapped, and he felt his irritation spike as Pietro shifted around and huffed insolently. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to just start walloping the boy already…

But Pietro had to understand. He needed to know that he couldn’t act the way he had been and expect to get away with it. He also needed to know that it was unacceptable to run away and get drunk at the slightest provocation. Being a brat and being irresponsible were two things that the Avenger’s did not tolerate and Pietro had to fully understand that before Clint started disciplining him.

“You’re not my father!”

The accusation caught Clint off guard, and he glanced down at the younger man draped over his knee.

“What?”

Pietro removed his head from the covers and turned to glare at Clint, his boyish face contorting.

“I said, you’re not my father!”

Clint frowned back at him. “No, and you’re not my son, but you’re a child and you need me to guide you.”

Pietro snarled and slammed his face back into the covers, but Clint wasn’t quite finished.

“For one thing, you cannot go and drink yourself into a stupor. That is a ridiculously irresponsible thing to do. You are putting your body under unnecessary strain, and that is unacceptable. I care about you too much to allow you to harm yourself.”

At that, Pietro turned once more with a fire in his crystal eyes. “SHUT UP!” He roared.

“Fine.” Clint snapped. “If my words aren’t quite getting through to you, maybe I should save them for later.”

And with that, Clint grabbed the waistband of Pietro’s sweatpants and boxers, ignoring the startled cry that followed, and ripped them both down, exposing Pietro’s pale and rounded bottom.

“No… No! NO! STOP!” Pietro sobbed, his hands twitching in Clint’s grip as he fought to get free and cover himself.

“Clint! Cl-Clint, p-p-please! PLEASE! I’ll listen! I-I promise!”

The older man had never heard such a distraught sound come out of the kid before. Clint didn’t want to do this. Pietro was just a kid who had messed up. But then, Clint reminded himself, kids needed boundaries. Pietro had been aware that he wasn’t to act the way he did, yet he had done so anyway.

Steeling himself against the younger man’s premature cries, the archer raised his hand to level with his head and then quickly brought it down on the trembling bottom over his left knee.

_SMACK!_

Pietro’s silver head shot up from the covers, his neck straining and eyes widening. His mouth moved and his tongue worked but no sound came out. That _hurt!_ He quickly ducked his head back into the bedsheet as another slap came.

_SMACK!_

“Ah!” Pietro yelped, his head shooting up again. The Sokovian tried again to pull his hands free from Clint’s grip, but it was hopeless.

“Stop." _SMACK! "_ Doing." _SMACK! "_ That."  _SMACK!_ Clint ground out, punctuating each word with a hard swat to the sensitive area at the top of Pietro’s thighs.

Pietro hollered and kicked, trying to swivel away from the assault on his lower body.

“SORRY! I-I’m s-sorry!” Pietro screamed.

Clint rolled his eyes. God, was the kid theatrical.

“Not sorry enough, little boy. Pick a God and pray, Pietro, we’ve just begun.” Clint replied.

Pietro moaned desperately in response, tears running down his face and soaking the bedsheets beneath him. Clint was guessing that he’d never been spanked before. Well, that explained a lot.

The archer continued punishing the sobbing boy, turning a deaf ear to his pleas. The kid was heart breaking.

_SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!_

_“_ AHHH!”

Pietro’s rear was already turning a light pink, but Clint knew that the punishment still had a little longer to go before Pietro would be as accommodating as Clint wanted him to be.

_SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!_

“Ow, OW, OUCH!”

Clint wasn’t holding back any, and it was all Pietro could do not to scream again as the older man continued igniting a fire on his backside. There was no ignoring this, each swat added more pain and there was no time for Pietro’s body to adjust to the building burn before another swat was landed.

It would’ve been easier for Pietro to handle if he could’ve just been allowed to move. This full restraint he was in was just as distressing to him as the pain was. Add that to the fact the Clint was spanking his bare naked ass, and Pietro didn’t know how much more he could take.

A particularly harsh swat to the back of his legs caused Pietro to cry out.

“AH!”

“You’d better not be drifting away from me, little boy. If you could grace me with your full attention that would be wonderful.” Clint ground out sarcastically.

Something in Pietro snapped and he snarled at the archer. “What is with you and attention, you egotistical fu- AHHH! OUCH! AH, PLEASE!”

Clint had responded with a particularly fierce tirade of swats to Pietro’s sit spots, his anger at the comment due to the irony that surrounded it.

“You think _I’m_ egotistical, you little brat?! I would never treat people the way you do, that is disrespectful and selfish and it will NOT be tolerated."

"You."  _SMACK! "_ Are." _SMACK! "_ Pushing."  _SMACK! "_ Your."  _SMACK! "_ Luck."  _SMACK! "_ Kid."  _SMACK!_

“CLINNNT! PLEASEEEE!” Pietro’s throaty accent was beginning to thicken in his duress, and he gurgled out sounds that were neither Sokovian nor English. Tears were running down the speedster’s face at a frequent rate, and the bedsheet upon which his face rested was damp with them.

Pietro kicked out again, only to wail immediately as Clint responded with a powerful series of swats to the under curve of his bottom, bringing the burn that had built up to near unbearable levels.

“P-P-Pleassse!” Pietro chocked out, turning his head to look at his teammate.

Clint looked at the face of the young man. Pietro’s long eyelashes were clumped together with moisture, and the boy was silently crying with tears staining his face, causing it to glisten slightly in the dim light of the hotel room.

His bottom lip was trembling with the effort of keeping himself together, and his shoulders were shaking. Add to that his bright red bottom and Clint wanted nothing more than to pick the brat up and hug him.

But they still weren’t finished.

“Tell me, Pietro. Why am I doing this to you?” If Pietro was his usual self, Clint was sure that he would have come up with a snarky reply that would have just enraged the archer further.

But Pietro wasn’t his usual self. He was being spanked by a teammate who he may or may not view as a father figure and it hurt! His bottom was throbbing and Pietro shifted uncomfortably across Clint’s knees as he tried to keep from whining.

The younger man jumped as the archer placed a strong hand on his aching bottom. Clint could feel the heat radiating from it.

“I expect an answer, Pietro. Why am I doing this to you?”

Pietro whined and rubbed his damp face against the bedsheet. He didn’t know why Clint was doing this to him! He hadn’t done anything wrong, but he couldn’t mention that.

The weight of his teammate’s hand pressing down on his burning skin caused Pietro to wince in pain, and he blurted out the first thing he could think of:

“Because I broke your nose!”

Clint swatted down hard on Pietro’s exposed bottom, causing the boy to burst into a fresh fit of tears with a yell.

“You did,” Clint agreed, “And if you ever raise a hand to me again, little boy, I’ll spank you every night for a week.” Pietro’s stomach clenched at that and he gave a throaty sob, feelings of dread coursing through him.

“But that’s not why I’m spanking you.”

“Then why’re y-“

“Oh no,” Clint interrupted, “You tell me. I can stay here all night if I have to, my arm doesn’t tire.”

“But I don’t knowww!” Pietro whined, trying, and failing, to turn his body away from the archer.

“Think on it, you little brat, and when you’ve got the answer, give me a shout and I’ll stop spanking you.”

“WAIT!” Pietro cried, but it was too late. Clint had continued the spanking, bringing his hand down with a rhythm and a pace that took the younger man’s breath away.

“AHHHHHHHHHHH!”

_SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!_

“AHHHH, PLEASE”

_SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!_

“CLINT, ST-STOP!”

_SMACK! SMACK!_

“I-I-I…”

_SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!_

“AHHH! STOP, CLINT, PLEASEEEEE!”

Clint continued to pepper the younger man’s dark red bottom with firm slaps, layering handprint after handprint on the sensitive skin.

“I WAS A BRAT!” Pietro finally bellowed, before breaking down into wrenching and uncontrollable sobs. Clint stopped spanking him and rested his hand on the bright red furnace over his left knee.

“Expand.” He ordered shortly.

Pietro hiccupped and gulped, and tried to hide his face as far away from Clint as possible, but Clint removed his hand from Pietro’s blazing bottom and used it to turn the boy’s face so that they were making direct eye contact.

The kid was a mess; his hair had become matted and tangled and a mixture of snot and tears stained his face. His wide blue eyes glistened with watery misery and a low flush had crept up his face, tinging the pale skin a shade closer to the colour his bottom now was.

He hiccupped again, and Clint felt his heart melt.

“I-I-I w-was-was” Pietro slurred over his words, confused as to what language he was supposed to be speaking. Tears ran uncontrollably down his face, though neither man acknowledged it.

“Brat, I was brat, a b-brat!” Pietro took several deep shuddering breaths and his blush deepened.

“I d-didn- did not act my a-age. I w-was r-r-rude! P-P-Pleeeeease don’t h-hit me again!”

Clint frowned at that. He swatted down on Pietro’s bottom, not enough to really add more pain, but a warning that more could come if Pietro didn’t behave himself. Pietro moaned loudly and miserably at the swat, arching as much as Clint’s tight hold permitted.

“Am I hitting you, Pietro?” Clint’s tone was stern and left no space for an argument. Not that Pietro was in any shape to give one.

“N-N-No s-s- sirrr” Clint blinked at the title, but moved on when he realised that Pietro hadn’t even meant it.

“Then what am I doing to you?”

Pietro gave a low whine and his hands twitched as though he longed to cover his face with them. His face had turned the same shade as his bottom. His eyes were looking anywhere but Clint’s face.

“Look at me, Pietro.” A humbled pair of blue eyes flicked hesitantly to meet Clint’s. “What am I doing to you?”

“Y-Y-You’re s-s-sp-spanking meeee!”

“Yes. I am. And is spanking the same thing as hitting?”

Pietro sucked in another shuddering breath and shook his head.

Clint clicked his tongue in irritation. “A verbal answer, please Pietro.”

“N-Not same t-thing.” Pietro breathed.

“Good. So, why am I spanking you?”

Pietro’s breath hitched. “Because I was bad!” he cried immediately.

“Expand.” Clint prompted.

“I was mean to people a-and I was disr-disrespe-disra”

“Disrespectful”

“I was disrespectful to you and S-Steve and I h-hurt y-you and I g-g-got d-drunk! I’m sorryyyyyyy!” Pietro had collapsed with a whoosh of air into the bedsheets again and Clint could see his shoulders shaking as he no doubt cried over a combination of the guilt and burning bottom he was feeling.

“I am going to repeat my earlier points to you, Pietro. Being a brat towards anyone in the team is not tolerated. We are all older than you, we are all stronger than you, and if it happens again, you will find yourself over the knees of each member of the team in turn.”

“We are the Avengers, and we look out for one another. We are a family and none of us will hesitate to spank you if need be. You have my word on that. If you ever raise a hand, or physically lash out at any member of our family again, I will personally make you one very sorry little boy. And then you’ll have to face Steve.”

Pietro gave a low sob and burrowed his soiled face further into the covers. Clint allowed it, as he knew he had the kid’s full attention.

“And as for the drinking,” Pietro gave a low mewling sound from the base of his throat. “You are putting your body under unnecessary strain, and that is unacceptable. Reckless acts will not be tolerated. By anyone. If I find out that you have pulled a deliberately stupid stunt just because you failed to think it through, I will spank you until sitting down is nothing more than a mere memory. As I said before, I care about you too much to allow you to harm yourself.”

Pietro chocked slightly, but otherwise made no comment.

“So,” Clint finalised, and he noticed how tense Pietro had become.

“You are being spanked because you were behaving like a brat the team.”

_SMACK!_

Pietro shrieked at the extra hard swat, throwing his head back and bellowing, his legs straining behind him.

“You are being spanked because you were stupidly reckless.”

_SMACK!_

Pietro had become frantic, he was struggling and bucking and bellowing at the top of his lungs and it was beginning to become more of a hardship for Clint to keep him in place.

“For this moment on, Pietro, if you want to drink alcohol, you’d better ask me first. I want your ID on my dressing table within the next twenty four hours, and you are grounded to your room until I say otherwise. You are not to use any of the computer or video game systems, and you are to help Steve and Pepper with whatever they need help doing. If I get so much as one complaint from either of them, so help me, I’ll take my belt to your sorry ass. Bad boys get spanked. Understood?”

Pietro snuffled and nodded desperately into the bed, muttering hushed ‘Yes sirs’ and ‘Of course sirs’ under his breath. The kid was spent and utterly adorable.

Clint picked him up gently and sat him on his lap, careful to separate his legs in order for Pietro’s scalded bottom to dip between them. Almost immediately, Pietro rested his tangled head on Clint’s chest and his blue eyes gazed off into the distance. Clint wrapped his arms around his boy, smiling slightly as Pietro never recoiled.

“How did you find me?” Pietro blurted out, and Clint had to smile at how freaking adorable the kid was. In response, the archer pulled out an old discarded beer can from his pocket and held it out for the younger man to see. Pietro stared at it.

“But I kicked that away…” he whispered.

Clint rolled his eyes. “Kid, you kicked it a good twenty miles. I was looking for you and I saw its arc as it landed. I’m a freaking archer, I know all about angles and trajectories, I could determine its starting point in my sleep. And who else could kick a can _twenty freaking miles?!”_

Clint smirked at the younger man’s wide eyes and ran a hand through his shock of white hair. Pietro leaned into the touch and let the older man comfort him. He hadn’t expected to gain a father this day. Pietro moved his hand to rub at his aching bottom, hissing between his teeth.

The colour returned to his cheeks as he noticed Clint watching him with a raised eyebrow. “You okay, kid?” He asked.

“Yeah, I-I‘m fine.” Pietro responded, his accent tripping over the words.

“I guess I just didn’t see this coming.”

**Author's Note:**

> “Havni!” – Taking from the Slovak ‘hovno,’ meaning ‘shit.’  
> “Vayploeskot.”– Taking from the Slovak ‘vyplieskať,’ meaning ‘spank.’
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


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